The QUESTION. SINCE freed from Love's enchanting Pains, Your Heart no longer wears my Chains; Since the gay Folly charms no more, And all the dear Delusion's o'er: Yet tell me, Damon, do you prove In Freedom, Joys so pure as Love? Alike unfelt its Pains or Sweets, Your Heart an equal Measure beats: No longer Hope and Fear maintain Within your Breast a doubtful Reign: Unpleas'd, nor caring if you please, Lost in a dull inactive Ease. Since then for this you could forego The Lover's sweetly-pleasing Woe; Forsake those bright enliv'ning Fires, Gay Hopes, and elegant Desires; The mutual Wish, the equal Flame, The Sorrows, Fears, and Hopes, the same. Oh say, what Joys can Freedom boast, Like those sweet Torments you have lost.